...in Naples and Rome

The Adventures of the Anonymous Four in Naples and Rome

At some point had I clearly stopped paying attention when Husband was booking the holiday and failed to notice that he had booked a flight which meant we had to get up at 3.00am.

So at 3.00 am, up we got. And jolly chuffed about that we all were. Remarkably, when we arrived at Gatwick at the fine old hour 4.50am there was already a reasonably significant queue at the Easy Jet check in. The family in front of us included a teen aged girl who had particularly bad ‘morning hair’.

Having got through the check in queue we then joined another queue at passport control where the smiling chappie in attendance commented to Husband that he wasn’t going on holiday, but rather deserved a medal. I should perhaps at this juncture mention that Stepchild the Elder and Stepchild the Younger were accompanying us on the trip. Over the next few days Husband frequently commented on how very right this young man had been.

At the security check we had to remove our shoes. I commented to Stepchild the Elder that if she had managed to get an explosive device in her extremely minimalist flip flops then I would be rather impressed and proud to be blown up in the process. Perhaps I should have said nothing as she was soon afterward selected (supposedly randomly) to be searched more thoroughly.

After all this queuing there was only just enough time to grab a quick breakfast (at which point Stepchild the Younger was already eyeing up any potential talent) before it was time to board the plane. This involved going outside, where it was raining. As it was raining, we decided to leave the country. Immediately.

The flight out went well – having said that, the vast majority of flights go well. The ones that go badly don’t always leave survivors. To entertain ourselves during the flight Husband informed Stepchild the Younger that the hotel in Naples was a convent run by nuns and we would have to attend mass every day. This was not entirely a lie. The hotel was called Il Convento and used to be a convent. Everything else was complete rubbish. However, for a while she did actually believe him. We also passed some time discussing philosophy – or did we. Did we only think we had been discussing it? It raised an interesting question in respect of children who quite often cover their head in some way and believe that if they can’t see anyone, then no one can see them. Therefore, did a child know it had a back, even though it couldn’t see it. Nobody knew the answer, despite of us having been children at some point. Unfortunately there were no other suitable children available for comment.

We had a lovely view of the Alps and the west coast of Italy before finally flying low over Rome (excellent views of the Coliseum and Vatican City) before landing.

We ventured out of the plane onto the waiting bus. It was hot. The bus drove us around the aeroplane to a door into the terminal building about 5m away from where we had started.

We collected our suitcases – some of which appeared to have had a far more arduous journey than us, and joined the very long queue for the car hire. While waiting Stepchild the Younger got rather excited about seeing a nun waiting at the airport – waiting for God one assumes.

Husband eventually reached the front of the queue and armed with some rather dodgy directions we set off to find the hire car. It was a bit of a walk, and this really should have been a clue about the holiday ahead. But we didn’t realise it at the time. The car we got was an Opal Zafira and not the Alpha Romeo that Husband had been hankering after. He dealt with the disappointment well – only mentioning it a couple of times a day thereafter.

Finally, we set off for the long drive south to Naples and the girls promptly fell asleep. Within minutes of getting onto the motorway we ground to a halt. Clearly a significant halt. Cars were stopped for as far the eye could see (which actually wasn’t that far as there was a bend ahead). However, the engines were turned off, car doors thrown open and people were wandering about on the motorway which implied they had been there for a few minutes.

Stepchild the Elder and Stepchild the Younger had now woken up and I warned them we may sit here for a few hours (based on my last experience of traffic jams in Italy). We listened to the radio to see if we could hear any traffic news – I did pick up the name of the road we were on but rather inconveniently this was mentioned after the details about the traffic problems on it. Before long we could see people rushing back to their cars and assumed that the hold up would soon be over. The cars started moving again and we passed a fireman standing on the hard shoulder hosing the still smoking ground next to the motorway, blackened by the fire which had been clearly been blazing there only minutes before.

We continued the drive south, past the high and barren Apennine Mountains which run down the spine of Italy. As it had been a long day and lunch time was upon us when we pulled off the motorway to Pontecorvo in search of food. Pontecorvo was a small and unremarkable town. At the bottom of one street was an attractive outside eating area. Assuming this was an eating establishment we ventured inside – only to discover that this rather elaborate place was nothing more than a coffee and ice cream bar. However, the owner did inform us that there was a panini and pizza bar further up the road. We found the suggested place and sat outside with large slices of pizza. What we didn’t realise was that the tree we were sitting underneath was particularly prone to shedding leaves, insects and general unidentified bits which liberally spread themselves over us, the food and drinks. However, we had more or less eaten everything and continued our way towards Naples.

The land around us reminded me of Sardinia – mountainous and parched dry it appeared barren and yet it was green with vines and crops, somehow managing to be fruitful in the punishing heat.

As we approached Naples we came to the toll at the end of the motorway. The system of queuing for the toll booths was an interesting one in that there was no system. A chaotic mish mash of vehicles eventually spread out into booth specific lines a few metres before each booth. Husband approached the booth and handed his ticket to the man – and then dropped it. He got out of the car only to find that the ticket had completely disappeared. He squeezed himself between the car and the tight barriers of the toll aisle, eventually finding the ticket and getting extremely dirty in the process. ‘I needed to stretch my legs’ he commented when he finally got back into the car.

Having duly upset the people behind us to quite a considerable degree we ventured onto the Naples ring road and started to follow the directions to the hotel. There was a tiny flaw in this plan. The directions asked us to come off at the junction for Piazza Municipio. There was no such exit. The situation wasn’t helped by the fact that our detailed map did not extend to the outskirts of Naples so I had no way of knowing where we were. Before long we were heading out of Naples and back towards Rome. We went through the toll booth back onto the motorway and Husband then took the first exit off to head back into Naples. We were now on small cobbled roads that rumbled through vaguely interesting but shabby residential streets. With no sign posts or clue as to where we were or which we way we wanted to go we meandered on, occasionally reversing back up dead end roads or being thwarted at one way streets. After considerable time and an unnecessarily difficult and stressful journey we finally found the elusive – and frankly unattractive – Piazza Municipio. The hotel was only a few streets away in the Spanish quarter – a labyrinth of narrow cobbled streets that crept up the steep hill in parallel criss-cross order – in stark contrast to the balcony crammed chaos on the tall buildings above, strewn with washing and flags. The streets themselves were crammed tightly with cars and lunatic scooter drivers.

We were shown to our room. It was on the top floor and the friendly manservant – who we nicknamed Mario - dutifully brought all our rather heavy suitcases upstairs in the extremely tiny lift. On the plus side the room had an outside balcony – complete with lemon tree However, it also had only two double beds crammed together in one room. Husband strongly believed this was not what he ordered and – still sore about not getting the Alpha Romeo – went downstairs to complain. Before long Mario returned and took all the suitcases back down two storeys to our new room which had a mezzanine floor with two beds for the girls, overhanging the room with our bed. There was a balcony which could comfortably accommodate one person and which dangled over the busy, narrow street below. We could have jumped from our balcony to that of the house opposite if we were called James Bond. We could much more easily have stolen the washing which hung from their balcony. We did neither.

 

 

In both this room and the previous one I noticed ear plugs. I wondered whether these were an acknowledgement of the flight path out of Naples airport which by and large went right across the city at an altitude of around 3000 feet. The planes were big. They were noisy and they were more or less every half hour.

Having freshened up we set out to wander around our new patch and find somewhere for dinner. We headed towards Castel dell’Ovo or Castle Egg via Castel Nuovo (Castle New, presumably to distinguish it from Castel Vecchio – castle old. But there was no Castle Old). This was not an easy or pleasant evening stroll. Firstly we had to negotiate the extremely busy, multiple laned roads. There was a complete absence of anything that could be considered nice or pretty to walk past. Everything seemed rather run down, dirty and just a bit tired and shabby. We passed stalls of barbequed sweet corn amongst the litter, dog turds and ample supplies of homeless people.

In the squares around Castel dell’Ovo were multiple places to eat. We started with a drink at a coast side bar with a marvellous view of Vesuvius – and where I became aware of the itch of a couple of insect bites on my ankle. We selected a restaurant for dinner, more or less at random. Being by the sea, Husband and I selected two mussel dishes for starters. They were delicious. I opted for a pasta dish for main course which provided no clue whatsoever in the name about what might be in it. However, that is part of the joy of travel – eating obscure food. Everyone else opted for pizza, including one calzone which is a Naples speciality. Husband had a seafood pizza which was liberally covered with shellfish, still in their shells, and looked rather like hard work. My pasta was red and tasted quite harmless. I am none the wiser about what might have been in it. Dinner was accompanied by Vesuvius wine – which seemed appropriate as it loomed over us on the horizon in a vaguely ominous way.

 

We wandered back to the hotel via Piazza del Plebiscito – a huge, unlit, unpopulated, colonnaded square (although it was round) – pausing on the way to buy an ice cream. Well, it was night time and still somewhere around 25◦C. We ambled into the eerily lit Galleria Umberto 1 – a huge, high ceilinged steel and glass arcade with a detailed mosaic floor. It was a shopping mall, but seemed dull and deserted – not helped by it being night time and the shops being closed.

Arriving back at the hotel we tumbled into bed for a much needed sleep. We all slept badly. And then, at 7am the following morning there came an alarm call which I do not recall ordering – a church that sounded as though it was in the room let rip a cacophony of bell ringing. Not wanting to miss out, all nearby churches joined in. This was Sunday morning in a catholic country. After ensuring we were all completely awake, the deafening call to mass ended – with half hourly reminders thereafter. The shutters on the balcony doors very effectively kept out the light, heat and general noise (including the aeroplane sounds) but were no match for this. Soon afterwards, I could just hear the strains of psalms being chanted and promptly gave up any further attempt at sleep. The others had managed to doze off again – except Stepchild the Younger, so I went up stairs to tell her she was late for mass and we hadn’t been lying after all. The reason for the earplugs was suddenly quite clear.

My insect bites had not improved overnight. In fact, it was reasonably safe to say that they had got worse given that my leg and ankle had started to swell.

We dressed and went downstairs for breakfast. There were two tables of food – one was a traditional Italian breakfast which consisted largely of gooey cakes, and the other was apparently English breakfast and offered up fresh pineapple, cheese, cold meats and boiled eggs. The waitress brought us our coffee – one small jug of hot coffee and one extremely large jug of hot milk. This was all the clues I needed about the strength of the coffee. I put a mere dribble into the cup and topped it up with milk – it still looked a little darker than I would normally have had my coffee. Husband, being a brave chap who views strong coffee with the same ‘go on, I dare you’ spirit with which young men view a very hot curry, had a whole cup of black coffee. I doubted if he would ever sleep again.

Our guide book had suggested that the tourist attractions of Vesuvius and Capri were best avoided at weekends because they are completely overrun with tourists. Therefore we decided to make this our day in Naples and wandered off through shadowy narrow streets and small squares towards Spaccanapoli. This ancient street was apparently the place to come to get a feel for Naples and is one of the main shopping areas. The street is for the most part pedestrianised although this doesn’t guarantee no traffic as evidenced by the scooters that hurtled passed us. It was straight, long and narrow. The high buildings prevented the early morning sun from lighting it, so it was also quite dark. If this was meant to give a feel for the city, the feeling we got was that it was closed. This was partly bad planning on our part – we hadn’t really thought through what we day we would do what activity and had allowed ourselves to be guided by the aptly named guide book. What it had failed to remind us was that the city would be shut on Sundays – Catholic country, day of rest and all that. There was, therefore, a small flaw in our original plan.

 

Quickly deciding that today would not be a shopping day we took a taxi across to Castel dell’Ovo. This is the oldest castle in Napes and occupies the tiny island of Megaris. The bridge across to the castle did have a cooked egg on it which Husband suspected was the result of an experiment into frying an egg on the hot pavement (now out of the shade the heat of the sun was already picking up). The castle itself was quiet, ancient and mildly dull. It looked far more impressive from afar.  We walked up the steep path into it and looked out over the bay from the many vantage points. I saw a man in a boat in the blue sea below – presumably fishing, and cooed to Husband – ‘Can you see the man in a boat’. He giggled and Stepchild the Younger demanded to know what so funny. Naturally we didn’t tell her. It was while wandering around the ramparts of this castle that we first identified the direct correlation between size of top and size of belly on display.

After leaving the castle we had a quick drink and there started the blight of chair leg – the distinct imprint of a chair seat pattern on the back of ones thighs. We ambled along the promenade towards an area where people seemed to be in the sea. There were sunbathers and swimmers all along the huge sea defence boulders around Castel dell’Ovo but we could also see significant amounts of detritus in the sea. All the way along the promenade were dark, browned bodies sprawled on the rocks like limpets.

 

We found our way the most popular area which did have a whole 3m long stretch of black sandy beach. It was an accidental beach that had been formed by the coastal defences. Here there was a high built line of boulders a little way off the coast which helped create the calm water ‘beach’ and also provided a rather cool island for swimmers and divers to aim for. Dozens of people were in the water. We paddled for a bit and then continued our stroll through Naples.

 

Our intention was to head towards the Funiculare di Chiaia which went up to the top of the Vomero hill from where we would have a panoramic view of the city and it’s threatening volcano.

 

We walked via the Villa Comunale gardens. Apparently on Sunday afternoons this park is filled with smartly dressed families parading up and down under the shady palms. All we saw were a boy and his father kicking a football around in the shade of a huge, century-old bandstand. However, it was midday and extremely hot. Here and there silent people lingered on the shaded benches. Something about mad dogs and Englishmen and the heat of the mid day sun sprung to mind as we walked down the baking, dry avenue in the full glare of the sun. Now and then a welcome breeze would rush towards us – but this also blew up the dry sand from the path and filled our eyes with grit.

To reach the funicular we needed to walk along a few streets which did gradually creep up the hill, and I took the view that funicular was getting the easy end of the bargain as we were climbing half the hill for it. But I was wrong. A surprisingly efficient service carried us to the top of the hill, climbing quickly through a long and incredibly steep tunnel.

 

Foolishly we had assumed that finding the hulking Castel Sant’Elmo would be relatively easy. However, in the now expected absence of any signposts whatsoever, we used our map to navigate our way to it.

Eventually we happened upon its walls and then had to try to find the way in. The castle itself was closed but we could go up on the battlements and even then the cashier refused to give any change for the admission fee so we had to try and find the exact money. We were learning that people in Naples generally did not aim to please.

All much in need of a drink or ice cream, we imagined that someone would have thought of having a small refreshments establishment on the vast battlements.

We came out of the lift onto a huge expanse of red bricked nothingness with not so much as an ice cream stand. Naples just did not absorb the tourist thing at all. I realised it was Sunday but the city was almost silent, and in many of the streets we had been the only people. It was not the busy, vibrant, throng of life that it claims to be. I didn’t like Naples.

 

It was a densely populated city of poverty and barely controlled anarchy. This is a city where the red lights at junctions command about as much authority at Christmas tree decorations and where families ride three or four to a scooter – children perched perilously on the foot plate. Quite often the driver himself is a child and no scooter pays the slightest attention to one way streets or no entry signs, to their own ultimate peril. The historic churches and palazzi which liberally pepper the city are not as polished and restored as those of Venice and Rome and it has a general air of shabby, crumbling baroque. Apparently Naples is improving. It was only in 1993 that the then mayor of the city embarked upon a huge clean up campaign and improvements to the city’s infrastructure and traffic congestion. I hadn’t been to the city prior to 1993 and so have no comparison, but at the moment, none of the improvements are apparent. We had also come to realise that in August all the locals go north into cooler climates. Naples was closed for August. And it felt like it.

 

We walked around to look at the panoramic view of the city and then went back to the Funiculare Centrale.

On the way we stopped at a trattoria for a drink to the intense grievance of the proprietor. He gave us the drinks but pointed out with as much bad attitude as he could muster that this was a restaurant and not a bar, and he added a cover charge to the bill which was almost as much as the drinks themselves. We left in minutes. Had anyone bothered to provide a bar we would happily have used it. Also, given that it was late afternoon and there was a distinct absence of any other trade he may have been a little more gracious to accept whatever passing business he could get.

The Funiculare Centrale took us almost the hotel door and we returned to our room for a rest. My leg had by now swollen quite considerably and my foot had swelled out between the restrictions of the straps of my sandals. My bites had now turned into blisters. I pressed on one of them to try and pop it – the blister liquid shot out straight into Husband’s face. We all thought it was really funny but curiously Husband was less amused.

After a quick rest, we put on swim suits and headed back out the to small beach area, via Via Chiaia. This was the expensive end of town with designer shops lining the road, and was certainly the most attractive area that we had wandered through.

The Chiaia district is an enclave of privilege. Its elegant streets are a world away from the run-down tenement buildings of neighbouring areas and the cramped dark streets of the Spanish Quarter.

We lay on the rocks while Stepchild the Elder and Stepchild the Younger swam, and explored the boulder island, then returned to the hotel to change for dinner.

We eventually found somewhere for dinner in Via Medina in a fantastic old building with high timbered ceilings and paintings of ancient Naples completely covering the walls. The menu was hand written and difficult to read which significantly affected by ability to understand it.

Husband opted for deep fried seafood which came with a significant amount of unidentified small and bony fish. The girls had pizza and again I picked something that was a complete unknown. It turned out to be a pork chop with cold artichokes. I was quite relieved when Stepchild the Elder couldn’t eat all her pizza and I helped polish it off, still being quite hungry. We made a small error with Stepchild the Younger’s pizza – ordering a pepperoni one and slightly forgetting (until it was delivered) that in Italy pepperoni means peppers. So she was presented with a pizza riddled with red peppers which she removed in their entirety (and fed to Husband) before the eating the cheese pizza that remained. The whole meal was served with the expected air of arrogance, disdain and general bad attitude.

Naples is the birth place of the pizza which traditionally has very thin crusts – thinner than those served in Rome - or a calzone (stuffed and folded). Fried seafood is also a Neapolitan classic.

We retired to the hotel slowly as by now I could barely stand due to the pain in my leg. It was now swollen from my knee all the way down my foot. That night we had a better nights sleep but were still ruthlessly dragged into consciousness by the 7am bells, although this was quite clearly not the insistent Sunday call to prayers.

 

My leg was still swollen, oozing and suppurating and closely resembling an attack of the plague but it much less painful to walk so we stuck with our original intention of going to Vesuvius after indulging more adventurously into the ample supply of morning cakes. It needed to be a hearty breakfast to provide us with the necessary energy for the exertions that lay ahead.

We collected the car and headed off in high spirits, confidently navigating through the maze of crazy streets that is Naples. This confidence was short lived, quickly disintegrating in the face of one way streets, extensive road works and central reservations that prevented vital u-turns. Finally we got onto the right track and allowed ourselves to be lulled into a false sense of security with tempting sign posts for Vesuvius. However, these petered out with depressing speed, assuming we would just know which way to turn at all subsequent junctions. All we wanted to do was get onto the south bound autostrada – which the guide book had implied was an easy thing to do. We were already viewing said guidebook with scornful discredit. After an hour of driving we were still in Naples with the autostrada tantalisingly in view but with no obvious way of joining it. We drove past it, under it, alongside it but never on it. Eventually we pointed the car east (towards Vesuvius) and started following country roads in an attempt just to get there. After a while we got onto an autostrada – no idea which one or really which direction it was going in. But we were excited none the less. We shouldn’t have been – it stopped after about 5 miles. Finally we found a road which headed in the direction of the Vesuvius National Park - this road ground to a depressing halt a quarter of the way up the wrong side of the volcano. We passed a shop advertising Vesuvio Plastico. Husband commented that he would be fine with that now. He would finger walk the rim and tick it off as having been climbed.

Eventually and largely accidentally (after performing a very necessary u-turn on a one way road) we arrived at a more promising sign post. Not wanting to overexcite ourselves, we followed it. Soon, however, it really did seem as though this was the right road as it narrowed, winding steeply up the mountain slopes. Vines, liberally hanging with rich, red grapes were soon replaced by ferns and stunted bushes growing through the lava rock which protruded darkly from the grass that tried to grow on it. Numerous blind hair pin bends cling to the steep slopes.

At 1000m we parked and booted up. It was still 25◦C here. Looming 1281m above the bay of Naples, Vesuvius is an active volcano, threatening the densely populated areas around its base – known as communi Vesuviani – where 1 million people live and who would all be destroyed very quickly in the case of a medium to large scale eruption. There is no doubt that Vesuvius will erupt again – the question is when. Stepchild the Younger asked when I thought this would – all things considered, I reckon it will erupt in 2015.

Vesuvius is of course most famous for its huge eruption of AD79 when it unceremoniously destroyed all nearby towns and cities, including Pompeii and Herculaneum. Since then it has erupted around a further three dozen times. The last eruption was in 1980 when it killed over 3000 people.

We talked at length about pyroclastic flows (which ultimately were responsible for the comprehensive destruction of Herculaneum and almost instantaneous death of its inhabitants). Had Vesuvius erupted about a week ago and destroyed Napes, I would have been saddened. Now I think that what Naples needs is a significant pyroclastic flow that destroys all before it. Naples would benefit enormously from being completely flattened and being forced to start again. It was God’s etch sketch and I assumed the only reason he hadn’t taken advantage of it was perhaps some sort of guilt about the obvious weekly devotions paid to him.

We climbed the winding path; covered in tiny loosely lumps of broken lava rock. The walk up was not particularly difficult. I walked with Stepchild the Younger who set a brisk pace. We paused at one turn to wait for Husband and Stepchild the Elder, and admire the view. Stepchild the Younger was panting – having exhausted herself with the fast pace. We were amused to see a nun coming back down the path – presumably having had a word with the chap upstairs about keeping a lid on the next eruption.

 

From the path we had an extensive view over the bay of Naples before the clouds rolled quickly up the hill towards us. We reached the rim, and looked over into the huge drop down to the crater. Sulphur smelling smoke rose continuously from one of the fumeroles. The cloud continued to rush up the hillside and linger evocatively over the crater. Every now and then it would suddenly lift and just as suddenly drop down onto us again.

 

The path around the rim became narrow and uneven with moonscape knuckles of lava rock reaching up around the edge of it. We bought some souvenirs at the stalls conveniently housed on the crater rim, making use of the Bank of Dad and raced back down.

Our original plan had been to go to Pompeii and then Herculaneum on our return towards Naples. However, we had passed a convincing sign to the Herculaneum scavi (excavations) and we weren’t entirely sure we would ever find it again.

Herculaneum was discovered accidentally in the early 1700’s by a farmer digging a well.  It is difficult to excavate as it is buried under 10m of volcanic rock, and the modern town of Ercolano is sitting on top of that. Having seen the modern town, I couldn’t see any reason why it shouldn’t be torn down in the interests of archaeology. It was a wealthy resort with a population of around 5000 at the time of the eruption.

 

The town was not destroyed by a shower of ash and rock like Pompeii, but by an avalanche of molten debris which covered it in a deep layer of mud and extended the land mass into the sea. As a result of being buried so rapidly in such molten temperatures there has been phenomenal preservation of buildings and materials. Wood, furniture, fabric and even a loaf of bread have all been unearthed. Many of the buildings still have two storeys and the wall paintings and mosaic floors are quite distinct. It was incredible what had survived. In the baths, the mosaic floor had sunk into the under floor heating system, but was still intact. There was a tragic air about the place, particularly in the storage areas along the old coastline which is where a multitude of human skeletons were found – the bones bent in heat shock and the skulls fractured and broken from the brains within having boiled.

 

After minimal driving around small roads, following whatever signs we were provided with, we actually got onto the autostrada and arrived in Pompeii after about 10 minutes. It was remarkably well signposted. The autostrada back to Naples was at the entrance. We were owed this.

We had arrived at Pompeii reasonably late in the date and they had run out of maps of the site – forcing us to buy a guide book which had a map in it. There was also quite a good map in the Naples guide book which I had left in the car. Pompeii was a thriving Roman town with a population of 20,000 until that fateful day in AD79 when Vesuvius erupted, smothering its buildings and inhabitants in a thick blanket of ash. A cosmopolitan place, it was popular as a holiday spot among the Roman’s and well known as a ritzy seaside destination with grand villas and rowdy brothels. Pompeii remained hidden until 1748 when excavations began, resulting in the ghost city that you can see today. And today you can still see the grooves worn in the paving by trundling carts, cross the road via huge stepping stones designed to keep you dry and clean, read graffiti on the walls and see the bread ovens still standing in the baker’s shop. It is a vivid and moving experience.

The buildings in Pompeii had been destroyed to a greater extent than those in Herculaneum. This was caused by the roofs of the buildings finally giving in under the weight of the ash and pumice that blew over from Vesuvius over the course of many hours.

Pompeii takes your breath away by the sheer scale of it. It is an entire city, of a comparable size to the historic centre of modern day Rome, with a multitude of streets branching off from each other, stretching further and further in to the distance. Due to the time of day many of the tourists were leaving so we had much of the place to ourselves which, combined with the fading light and looming shadow of Vesuvius, was eerily quiet. Soon after we arrived I could hear the bang of fireworks in the distance and told Stepchild the Younger that Vesuvius was erupting again. She looked properly alarmed. So it seemed a shame to let her know the truth.

 

Given the time and the long day we had had, we selected what areas we wanted to visit. This included the theatres, the Garden of the Fugitives and the brothel. The amphitheatre is the oldest one known anywhere and would have been used to host gladiatorial games. The Garden contained the plaster cast models of some of those who had died in AD79. All the bodies smothered by the ash and pumice had been burnt away by the heat. The remaining spaces had been filled with plaster resulting in the twisted, mangled death throes that we now saw.

 

The brothel was rather fun and one of 25 places of prostitution in Pompeii. Naughty paintings covered the walls and the building contained 5 small rooms with stone based beds – remarkably short ones at that. There was also a very small ablutions room, presumably for a quick rinse between clients. We did go to the House of the Vetti which had a statue of Priapus, the god of fertility with an outsized phallus. The statue now stands inside but was in fact a fountain, the water jetting out of said phallus. There was also a wall painting of him weighing it – and here after he was referred to as the willy weigher. However, the House was closed so we saw none of these delights.

We had wondered how we would know when the site was closing – and also what system they would operate to ensure no one was accidentally locked in. Husband suggested that they would sound a noise. And within about half an hour, a sound akin to an air raid siren did indeed sound. 

To attend to the small matter of dinner we went to a restaurant just outside the site where a rather excited man at the restaurant entrance leapt of his chair and ran down the driveway before us to show us where to park. For the first time I picked something that I recognised. The food was very good and Stepchild the Elder finished her dinner for the first time – with minimal noshing assistance.

Stepchild the Younger was concerned as she felt that her armpit hair was becoming too long and unsightly, and she hadn’t packed a razor, but rather hoped that Husband would lend her his. I asked to see the extent of this hairiness and therefore the urgency of shaving required. She started to lift her arms before suddenly shouting out ‘not in a restaurant, you moron’.

We got in the car and headed towards the conveniently available autostrada entrance – the excited man bravely darting out to stop all the traffic in the busy road so that we could cross it. I had already braced myself for a difficult navigation back to the hotel. 15 minutes later we were back in Naples – which made the time taken to get just to Vesuvius seem particularly annoying. However, we were now off the autostrada but having reached the city we just kept going – the road we were on pointed towards the port and our hotel was nearby so we intended to follow it until a junction forced us to make an alternative decision. Suddenly I could see the towers of Castel Nuovo ahead and uttered an exclamation to express my delight, surprise and exasperation of the morning all at once. I knew exactly where we were – and we returned to the hotel forthwith.

On the morrow we set off bright and early to catch the boat to Capri. I had left things in the car so we went to the car park first to retrieve these. Then Husband realised he had left his sunglasses in the hotel. Rather than all of us go back, I suggested that the girls and I walk to Piazza Municipio to wait for him. He set off at a jog.

The piazza was filled with the city’s homeless, washing in the fountains and talking to the stray dogs that lingered around them. A couple of street cleaners – who were half heartedly cleaning the fountains – stared at us in dumb surprise. It should have been a nice place, tree lined pathways and grassed areas, but instead had ended up as a refuge for the dispossessed of all species. Soon I could see Husband jogging his way back towards us, and we set off for the port.

Having bought the tickets we waited at the appropriate mooring for the aliscafi. There was no obvious system for boarding. It was very much a fight and push your way to the front. At the bottom of the gangway our tickets were checked (and I had all 4), but in the general shove and melee, how they knew which tickets related to which person is anybody’s guess. As we pulled out of the harbour we passed the QE2 which was moored up alongside the other cruise ships. It was a proud and sad moment to see her.

 

About half way through the hour long crossing it became quite choppy. I looked at Stepchild the Elder who was turning a fetching shade of green and suddenly recalled that she isn’t good with boats. Oops. Husband was standing outside anyway so she went to join him and felt a bit better.

At this point it is necessary to mention my father. He had been to Capri in one of his many European wanderings and had told us that you can either take a funicular to Capri or you could climb the steps to Anacapri where there also a cable car which went to the top of Monte Solaro. He had done the steps and informed us that he had sweated buckets and lost about 2 stone in the process but that it was well worth doing.

Undeterred, I thought that the steps sounded rather fun. Husband (although he will deny this) had agreed to look at the steps and make a decision (you can clearly see the pathway up the sheer cliff face from the port). Stepchild the Younger had liked the sound of the steps and Stepchild the Elder had sensibly made no comment.

We followed the steeply rising road out of Marine Grande until we came across a path called Scale Felice. I suspected that these scale were the ones we wanted. Not wanting to unnecessarily over exert the others, I ran along the path for a bit to look around the corner, and the next corner and then the corner after that. It seemed like the right path. So I jogged back to get the others – who had by now wondered where I had got to.

Initially the walk was fine – a gently sloping path with some small steps, meandering through trees which protected us from the heat of the sun. Stepchild the Younger started lizard spotting and everyone was having fun.

 

Then the climb suddenly got serious. Each step was much higher and now and the path zig zagged very steeply up the cliff face. We had left the welcoming shade of the trees and were now in the full glare of the hot morning sun. It was exhausting and my legs ached furiously. Husband was suffering and by now everyone denied having wanted to do the climb. Sweat was pouring off us and unflattering comments were being made about my father.

 

We crossed under the road and onto the last leg of the climb. Soon the end was in sight – or at least something that really would have to be the end or I should be in terrible trouble. When we finally reached the top, we were rewarded with a viewing platform from which you can see the town of Capri, the bay and the turquoise sea. With soaring cliffs, emerald waters, lush vegetation and whitewashed towns Capri is a capsule of beauty. 

This can also be seen by the multitude of American tourists who got here by bus and are slightly startled by our dishevelled appearance and not so faint aroma of sweat. I apologise to Husband and promise that there will be no more steps during the holiday.

 

The rocky paradise of Anacapri high up on the slopes of Monte Solaro is more rustic than Capri town – although with the mass provision of shops and bars for tourists this wasn’t immediate obvious. We wandered through Anacapri which was swarming with tourists and suitably filled with tacky souvenir shops alongside plush jewellers and limoncello outlets.

After lunch we took the cable car to the top of the hill. It is a single, open seat cable car and one after the other we took our place. The seats rose silently over plush vineyards filled with the sound of cicadas. I looked behind me at the others – Stepchild the Younger called out to me and lifted the not entirely protective arm on the front of the chair calling out ‘danger’. I told her to put it back – being the only thing to prevent her falling out, feeble as it may have been. It was wonderfully quiet with fabulous views over to Ischia and back to Vesuvius and Sorrento.

On arrival at the top there were a handful of steps to get to the viewing area – Husband pointed out that I had promised no further steps. From the top we were rewarded with fabulous views down the cliff to the blue green sea coves.

 

We took the cable car back down and located the bus for the Blue Grotto. The bus curled down the winding narrow road causing great danger to all other road users before arriving at the bottom of the cliff. The water incredibly blue, and there was the unfortunate requirement to do down some steps towards the grotto. Rather annoyingly the grotto was closed because the sea was too high. We looked at the front of the cave, but the angle was such that you couldn’t see into it. So we returned to Anacapri. The bus back was a lot fuller, and a dumpy, mad woman who was frothing at the mouth moved Stepchild the Younger out of her seat, chanting the mantra ‘sedermi’ (I sit).

The queue for the bus to Capri was huge. We had a drink and during this time the queue did not reduce at all. Each bus that passed was already full and so they didn’t even stop. After a brief consultation we decided to wait for a taxi instead. Seconds after arriving at the taxi rank, one appeared. A man from the bus queue ran over, to ask the driver if we could share, but the driver insisted on taking us only. As we pulled out, another person ran out to enquire about the cost but the taxi driver shouted back at him that this was someone else’s taxi and shunned the enquiry. He was a hero driver and we weren’t sure what had been quite so appealing about us. The taxi was open topped, but with a red and white striped awning to keep the sun off and make us feel as if we were sitting underneath a giant deck chair. Then followed a crazy drive, hurtling down the hair pin bend roads, laying waste timid moped drivers and stray dogs with abandon. The driver clearly had balls. Blind corners presented no problem and certainly no requirement to slow down. We rocketed through the edge of Capri - which incidentally allows no traffic through the town - and down to the harbour.

I was rather impressed with my spray tan and Stepchild the Elder was now developing the Neapolitan colouring that I had managed to avoid – i.e. shades of white, red and brown (strawberry, vanilla and chocolate). Anyway, it was very appropriate for Naples.

Having some time spare before the boat left, we went to the beach for a paddle. There was no sand so it was uncomfortable and not entirely stable paddling on the large stones; however the sea was fabulous – warm, blue and clear. Stepchild the Elder came over a little wobbly on the stones and we discussed our strategy for falling in – which basically was that we stand together but fall alone. No one should make a grab for someone else in the moment of falling. Just to be absolutely sure, I decided to move a couple of paces further away. In doing so I promptly fell in the sea, sitting in it so comprehensively that only the straps of my top remained dry. There was nothing else to do but laugh – after all, that is what most of the people on the beach were doing.

I sat in the sun to try and dry off a little. By the time we arrived back at Naples I was almost dry, except that my knickers were still wet and had created a damp patch on my shorts which did look rather suspiciously as though I had wet myself. Self consciously, we walked over the road to a pizzeria.

Crossing roads in most Italian cities does require a certain amount of nerve – particularly so in Naples. As we crossed the road I looked to me left and saw the tail lights of cars. Assuming that the cars must therefore be coming from the right, I looked to my right – and saw tail lights of cars. Now unclear about where the traffic was coming from, I just walked, and walked fast to get across.

Dinner was very filling and Husband and I were unable to help the girls finish their dinner. Under our suggestion, Stepchild the Elder adopted the celebrity trick of cutting things up and moving them around the plate, re-arranging the food in a nouvelle cuisine fashion to make it look as though you have eaten more. So she cut her pizza into squares and promptly built the leaning tower of pizza.

I mentioned quietly to Husband that I had a bite on my knee – which was starting to swell.

Our plan for Wednesday had originally been to wander further around Naples. However, the city was squalid, dirty and daubed everywhere with graffiti. The streets were littered with rubbish and filled with the stench of dog wee and drains. There was a significant population of stray dogs and homeless people.

Not wanting to spend further time in the city, we decided to go to Ischia and indulge in the thermal spas, a welcome relaxation after the last couple of days. The boat went via Procida and finally arrived at Ischia.

Ischia does not have the same rugged beauty as Capri but has the advantage of long sandy beaches. The volcanic terrain produces bubbling hot springs prized for their therapeutic powers. Romans had flocked to Ischia’s spas, but within a century of the destruction of Pompeii Monte Epomeo (the highest mountain on the island and one of its volcanoes) erupted destroying all life on the island. The harbour at Ischia is a natural boundary which once enclosed a volcanic lake.

We passed through Casamicciola Terme. The hottest springs gush forth here at a temperature of 82◦C. Ischia as a whole has 103 hot springs and 67 fumaroles. Tucked away in the north west corner of the island Negombo Thalasso Thermal Park has 15 pools, caves and baths built around San Montano beach.

We took a taxi to Negombo. The taxi was little more than a scooter that had undergone a Top Gear experiment to give it a roof and seats for four. The drive was terrifying and the scooter barely managed to climb the steep slopes of this volcanic island, the engine roared away and gave of a slight aroma of burning while the forward momentum got slower and slower. Finally we arrived at Negombo, much more in need of relaxation than half an hour previously.

The pools were arranged along a series of levels up the cliff which overlooked the beach, nestled in between palms and cactuses to give a jungle feel. Here the problem was not so much chair leg as rock bum.

The pools varied in temperature from ambient up to 38◦C – which was actually quite hot. We moved from pool to pool, inhaling the strong mineral smells and watching the steam rise off the water. At one point it started to rain slightly and lots of people got out – presumably in case they got wet. Being very salty, it stung enormously when water got into your eyes. It was also unpleasant if it got into your mouth and Stepchild the Younger did fill many of the pools with copious amounts of saliva by constantly gobbing out any water in her mouth. Many of the pools also included falls of water (which did not help the water in eyes situation) but people sat under these falls for several minutes to ease various joint and back pains.

Husband was particularly keen to try the therapeutic pool. This was set into a cave and included a sauna. The water was incredibly hot. There was also a very small therapy pool burrowed into a tiny, floor level cave and strongly resembling a well. It was 2.5m deep and therefore entirely out of depth. Husband considered getting into this pool, but there was no way we could have got him out again. He realised this first, and wisely gave it a miss. There was an optional cold water wash down to follow which was remarkably refreshing – once the initial shock of the cold had passed. But I couldn’t convince the others that this dousing was quite nice.

 

This was a good initiation for the Japanese maze which consisted of a knee deep walk over pebbles through very very hot water following by an equivalent walk through very very cold water. At one point the movement of people came to a halt and after a few minutes a man in the cold part called out ‘presto, presto’.

I had hoped that the pools might do something for my insect bites. They had certainly collected a lot of minerals and were now white in appearance – not totally sure that was an improvement. However, every time I went into a pool there was a pain in my leg akin to the feel of it being amputated.

All of us except Husband wanted to go into a cooler pool as the hot ones were becoming too much.

On our last morning in Naples we decided that the most sensible course of action would be to ask the hotel receptionist how to get to the autostrada. It hadn’t occurred to us to ask before, mainly because it hadn’t occurred to us that it could be so very difficult.

After devouring chocolate covered croissant cake for breakfast we headed off, going via the less attractive part of Naples – oh yes, a less attractive district did indeed manage to exist. Rather annoyingly we found the autostrada within minutes and headed back to Rome.

It was an uneventful drive except for the occasional swaths of smoke from presumably recently burning fields, and the suggestion of a traffic queue at exactly the same spot we had ground to a halt on the way down. The sky was overcast with occasional drops of rain, but it was still over 30◦C.

We found the apartment in Rome despite the directions giving completely incorrect left and right instructions – although I had been accused of making the same errors when navigating Husband. That was fine with me as research has found that women who don’t know their left from right – or indeed right from left – have higher than average intelligence and brain capability. Naturally I agree wholeheartedly with this research.

The apartment was fabulous – three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a large kitchen and living room and even a library. Furthermore it had mirrors in our bathroom and bedroom which were, well, interestingly placed.

We wandered down the road to a restaurant near the forum which Husband and I knew from a previous visit. It wasn’t open but the neighbouring one was. Husband and I had steins of beer which I could barely lift and for the first time ever, we all ate all of our lunch and even had pudding.

We spent the rest of the day ambling gently through the familiar streets of Rome, to the Trevi Fountain, Via Condotti, Spanish Steps and the Pantheon, popping into numerous shops – including the Disney Store on Via Corso. Stepchild the Younger’s ability to point at things in shops that she liked the look of was increasing curtailed by her concern about showing her hairy armpits. Husband treated himself to a new Italian leather wallet while the girls amused themselves looking at the enormous range of leather gloves – available in every colour and style. Stepchild the Elder had discovered that she really liked shopping – particularly for bags.

At one larger than average ice cream shop we wandered around the extensive selection, just to look. There was an enormous brown section – how many different flavours of chocolate could one possibly need. Anyway, the sight of it made Stepchild the Younger feel sick. That’s how much there was.

Several thousand other people were at the Trevi Fountain, but we managed to elbow our way threw to the front and threw in the obligatory coins to ensure a return to Rome. It had certainly worked in the past, this being my 4^th visit to the city.

As the Spanish Steps included, well, steps, Husband and I sat at the bottom watching a human statue wobbling about on the top of a bin while Stepchild the Elder and Stepchild the Younger climbed the steps. We also got slightly spattered with bubble scum from the bubbles being blown by the multitude of middle eastern wandering salesmen. A young boy drummed to the make shift audience sitting up the steps but was moved on when he started to walk around asking for money.

When the girls returned they broke into an impromptu performance of ‘head, shoulders, knees and toes’ (testa, spalla, ginoccio e diti del piede – admittedly it doesn’t have quite the same ring to it) using Husband’s hands to do the moves on my body.

Stepchild the Younger wanted to follow every nun she saw. Given the proximity to Vatican City there were a few and I did start to worry about whether she would be able to contain herself when we went to St Peter’s.

We had a drink at what appeared to be a restaurant to the complete delight of the owner who cared not a jot that we didn’t want to eat. A large array of nibbles was served with the drinks anyway. This was so different to Naples and so much closer to all the other places in Italy I have visited. The people were friendly and welcoming. We were spoilt for choice with places to eat and drink. And everything was clearly signposted – although I knew Rome well enough by now not to need these for much of the time.

We meandered back towards the apartment via the forum. It was now closed for the evening and the only things in it were a handful of stray cats and a bat – to the delight of Stepchild the Younger. She informed us proudly that she wanted to be a bat. I pointed out that she would be quite a rare species as she was scared of the dark – and dark is kind of when bats hang out. She thought it through, but was still determined that being a bat was the way forward.

The lift to the apartment was like something from Poirot– running up the open stair well. On the way back to the apartment Husband opened the internal door a little bit too soon and the lift ground to a halt. This slightly alarming process was presumably a security measure. We could not get the lift to go to our floor – inches away and instead had to go to the floor above and back down again. Spending longer than necessary with three other people crammed into a lift which would comfortably accommodate only one person and in 30◦C heat was not entirely welcome and we all made sure Husband left the doors well alone from then on.

Stepchild the Younger borrowed Husband’s razor to attend to her legs and armpits. His razor vibrates which she rather liked and decided she wanted to get one. I agreed that his vibrating razor was better. Husband glared at me. Actually no, I don’t know what it’s like at all, I corrected myself. She told us that her razor was a Venus. I had thought that they did make vibrating Venuses – and at this point the discussion rapidly deteriorated. As it was GCSE results day Stepchild the Elder was involved in a flurry of texts with her friends.

The following morning we attempted to heat up the croissants we had bought in the gas oven. This was rather dangerous as an awful lot of gas had to have been released before it would have the decency to catch fire. As your arm has to be a good way into the oven the whole process was destined to end in disaster. Ever quick thinking I taped the match to the end of a wooden spoon and managed to light the gas. However, the minute Husband opened the door to put the croissants in, it went out, and completely refused to re-light. So the croissants were toasted instead. The following morning I sat them whole on top of the toaster where they warmed through quite satisfactorily.

The following day we took the metro to St Peter’s. As expected there were a lot of nuns, monks and priests and we should perhaps have had a lead for Stepchild the Younger. She decided that she preferred monks. We went into the Basilica, passed the foolish tourists who were being turned away for wearing strappy tops. We walked by smugly – and warmly, having donned appropriate additional clothing. 

We went up the cupola which involved a lift ride and then the small matter of 320 steps which weaved around the edge of the dome through a decidedly wonky and narrow passage before culminating in a particularly small spiral staircase right to the top, and the welcome breeze of the outdoors.

 

We walked through Vatican City to Campo di Fiori – a fabulous daily market where the colourful array of fresh vegetables are not EC shaped at all – towards Piazza Navona for lunch, passing a shop window which displayed the largest salami in the world.

During these perambulations we shopped till we dropped – quite literally as Stepchild the Younger had been looking at all the shops with masks, and then decided which one she liked but couldn’t quite recall which shop it was in and thought it was one of the first ones. So we went round them all again. Husband’s feet were very very sore having not entirely recovered from the Capri steps. His blister had now grown blister. But I felt absolved. I may have caused the initial problem, but Stepchild the Younger had made it get worse.  Rather amusingly there was a shoe shop by Trevi Fountain called Sore – no prizes for guessing how their shoes made you feel.

We stopped for a welcome drink near some of the potential mask shops so that we could send Stepchild the Elder and Stepchild the Younger off on their own for a wander. Husband and I had iced coffee which was basically coffee ice cream with a bit of cold coffee poured over it. It tasted fantastic and was wonderfully refreshing.

We took the girls to St Ignatius church to see the dome which wasn’t there at all – but was painted onto a flat ceiling to give the optical illusion of a dome.

The weather was getting hotter and I was grateful for the cloud cover. After a heavy day of retail therapy we returned to the apartment to relax and cool down. Stepchild the Elder was doing crosswords and was getting herself confused as at one point she asked us the chemical symbol for geranium.

We dressed up for dinner. As the apartment was near the metro and everyone’s feet were sore, we took the metro into town in search of dinner. We were in the Trevi Fountain area, and so went to see it by night before find a rather nice restaurant for dinner. The girls rather fancied the waiter – even more so when he served up some complimentary dessert wine after the meal which they both rather liked. At some point there had been discussions about what was in certain meals and if I got it wrong then my head would be served on a plate. Stepchild the Younger preferred her chances with a pizza on the basis that at least she knew what was in it.

The following day we were meant to be out by 10.00 and were running late. Frenetic packing was going on when the apartment cleaner arrived – just as we were leaving. It was the hottest day we had had so far and we had to lug the suitcases to the station – which became a particularly hot and sticky journey. We dumped them at the baggage deposit and headed back into town to visit the Coliseum. There was of course a large queue, which we joined. And we were part of it for a long time during which we managed to persuade Stepchild the Younger that it went all the way round the theatre. However, while the queue was under the arches we were at least out of the burning sun. Once inside there was no mercy and we wandered around, jumping from shade to shade. After a while, Husband and I sat in a shaded area and let the girls wander.

 

Afterwards we came out and went to some of the many tourist stalls outside. Stepchild the Younger bought some last minute souvenirs and asked me to hold out my hand. I did so, and she put a euro into my palm. For a second or two I was confused, and then I realised that my hand was burning. Stepchild the Younger laughed. The euro had been sitting in their money box in the sun and was the hottest euro in the world.

We went for a long, lingering lunch – having plenty of time and it being far too hot to do much else. Our waiter only knew one thing in English which was ‘oh my god’ and he repeated this with amusing frequency.

Lunch over, we returned to the station and took a taxi back to the airport for our return to a cooler England.

NOTES

The above is a true story. At the time of writing Child the Elder was 16  and Child the Younger was 14. Some of the information about places visited is sourced from a variety of guide books. The author maintains rights over all other content.